A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed so far. It means a lot that you used your time to read this. I'm sorry for the long wait, hopefully, updates will be a little more frequent, as I'll have time off from coursework for the next two weeks. * Mental cheer * This chapter has not been beta-d yet, but I am planning to repost it, once it is. Thanks in advance to Tara.
If you enjoy this- please review.
2. Chipping At The Surface
In the days that followed, Professor Granger occasionally appeared at the staff table for meals and in the staff room, but didn't venture into the other professors' company too much, if it wasn't necessary. When questioned by Professor Dumbledore about this, she simply replied that she felt a little nervous for her first term and she wished to take the time left before the students returned, for extra preparation.
Severus witnessed this little exchange and doubted her reply very much. For one, there was no hint of nerves in her chocolate brown eyes. In fact, her face seemed completely void of emotion at all. Secondly, from what he had observed, she hadn't been carrying out any 'preparation' at all. Frequently, he had seen her walking alone, through the silent halls of the castle, only pausing to gaze desolately out of the tall windows. This was the only time he had ever seen a hint of sentiment in her expression.
Two days after she had arrived, he'd found her in the library, whilst retrieving a book of Wendal Wormwoode's theories on Restoration Draughts.
Supporting the heavy book under his arm, Severus stopped to study her. She was not reading a book dealing with the subject of DADA, as he would have guessed, but Hogwarts: A History. A rare, tantalizing smile hung about her lips and her eyes perused the pages. A few strands of hair had cunningly slipped from the bun her long tresses had been tamed into.
"Sorry to tear you away, Professor Granger."
The book slammed shut. The smile disappeared. Her slim hand whipped upwards to brush back the hair hastily. The childlike expression of perfect contentment was gone.
"Not at all. What is it?" she replied, sternly, as if the mere suggestion of her focus being hard to reach was insulting.
"You remember our brief conversation yesterday? About teaching the use of Potions within Defence against the Dark Arts to the sixth and seventh years?"
"Of course."
"What did you think of the lesson plan I gave you?"
"There were a few inaccuracies that could be amended. Also, you may want to replace your quill. Unless those blotches that obscured several of the words were intentional. In which case, I do apologise."
He simply stared at her for a few moments. Even though his frame of mind had become a little more lenient over the past years, he wasn't accustomed to anyone daring to discredit his work.
Taking note of his silence, she sighed, almost jadedly. "If you so wish, we could discuss it further. My quarters perhaps? I would suggest my office, but Remus still has some of his things in there."
Severus frowned. Then he realised it was his chance to try and talk to her about something other than work in a different environment.
"Very well. When do you want to meet?"
"I have an hour to spare on the night before the students return. Perhaps at eight o' clock?"
He thought quickly. "Yes, that would be fine."
She nodded, stiffly. Without another word, she turned and left the library.
He watched her steps as she departed. As she disappeared out of the door, he saw something small slip out of the hefty book.
He went to retrieve it. It was a glossy square of white paper. The side he was looking at, read:
Christmas 1997, Hermione, Ron and Harry.
He turned the paper over. On the other side, two seventh year wizards were grinning manically. They yelled as a third, a girl this time, threw a handful of snow at them. They threw their arms around each other and waved, smiling happily. They looked the perfect Christmas picture. His eyes fixated on Hermione in the middle of Ron and Harry. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and pure happiness shone in her dark eyes. Tiny flakes of snow settled in her thick, chestnut hair and she pulled the Gryffindor scarf tighter around her neck.
Frowning, Severus tucked he picture into his robes. He failed to notice two teenagers exit the photo, leaving the third standing quite alone.
A few nights later, Hermione sat in her living room, waiting for Severus to arrive. The minute she'd left the library, she'd regretted her invitation immediately. What had she been thinking, inviting Severus Snape to her private quarters?
She didn't like the way he made her feel. Like he knew how she felt, knew what she was thinking.
Of course, he arrived on time. She'd told Genevieve to open for him when he came by. Genevieve, of course, had broken into a fit of the giggles and said she was glad that Hermione was making new "friends."
"Professor Granger?"
"Professor Snape." There was an awkward silence for a few moments.
"You can sit down, you know," she said, snappishly. " I haven't got all night."
"Of course. I was simply being polite," he answered, easily. The fact that he didn't seem even merely put out, irritated her.
"I'm sure." Hermione pulled a sheaf of parchment and a few books off one of the many bookshelves. "Let's do this quickly, shall we?"
The next two hours passed swiftly, with the occasional comment and busy pen scratching. When the old, mahogany-coloured clock chimed ten o' clock noisily, Severus looked up in surprise.
"That's gone fast," he commented. With a wry grin, he added, "I guess it's true what they say, then."
"And what's that," she replied, coolly.
"Time flies when you're having fun."
She didn't say anything, but regarded him carefully.
"You've changed."
"I could say the same about you."
"You could, but I don't have the time for idle chatter. The students return tomorrow."
"That doesn't mean we can't have a quick conversation."
"Yes it does."
"Can I ask why?"
She looked at him very intently. For a moment, those unyielding brown eyes showed vulnerability. " Conversations lead to other things. Conversations can lead to trust."
"And that's something you can't risk?" he asked quietly.
"Not again," she whispered, as she turned away. Turning her back on him, she crossed over to the counter upon which her personal book collection from home was scattered.
"I'd appreciate it if you left now."
"Of course."
He walked a few paces towards the portrait but then turned back to place something upon the counter.
"You dropped this in the library."
He watched as she curled one fist around it.
"Oh, and Hermione?"
"Have a good first lesson."
Once the Gryffindor third years settled down with answering a question out of their books, Hermione felt mildly satisfied. Her demonstration with the Boggart had gone well and left most of the students eager for more. She hadn't been over-friendly with them, and made sure they understood the discipline her lessons were going to entail.
Most of them looked rather surprised at the youth of the new DADA teacher, and she was, she supposed, quite young, compared to Remus. She felt much older than she looked, though.
"Oh, come on." Hermione's eyes sharpened as she heard a whisper to the right of the classroom. "Just tell me little bit.
Hermione cleared her throat. The boy who was whispering abruptly focused hard on the book in front of him. The red-haired girl next to him rolled her eyes and very obviously, moved her book out of his sight. This did no good, however, as the blonde girl on her left immediately began copying.
When she was sure that nobody was looking, Hermione displayed a small smile behind her own book. The scene she'd just witnessed had been all too familiar from her days at Hogwarts.
The Slytherin fifth years weren't as easy to tackle. They'd obviously found out she was a past Gryffindor, and that their beloved Potions Master had been passed over once more. She recognised a couple whose parents were spending the rest of their lives in Azkaban, but didn't allow it to cloud her judgement. Not every Slytherin was destined for evil, she reminded herself. Draco Malfoy was a fine example. But Draco was gone.
More than once, they questioned her methods and asked irritating questions which was sure to get her back up. Eventually, she'd had enough, when one particular boy, with the unlucky features of a rodent, made a loud, uncouth comment about her to one of his cronies.
"Stand up, Mr. Grimen." Her voice was ice-cold.
Sniggering, the impolite boy casually got to his feet.
Hermione walked towards his desk. Leaning forward so that her face was merely inches from his own, she looked at him intently. She whispered something to him. The other Slytherins craned their necks to hear but her voice was so long, that only the intended person could hear it.
Ian Grimen stared in horror at her and backed away from the desk, knocking his stool to the floor with a clatter. Still stricken, as though she had seen right into his head, he walked slowly backwards, to the door.
The previously ajar door slammed. The class looked to the teacher in surprise. She'd merely looked to the door and it had acted on command. Grimen's face held more terror.
"H-how did you…" he stuttered and weakly trailed off.
Hermione sat herself down easily behind her desk.
"Sit down, Mr. Grimen."
"I will tell you now that I expect and deserve courteous behaviour in this classroom. I will not stand for disgusting comments or rude behaviour. If you want to know why, ask Mr. Grimen, but I'd suggest taking his reaction as evidence instead."
She paused, gazing around the class. They stared back at her.
"You will find that if you give me the respect and hard work I insist upon, I am incredibly fair and you will get the most out of this class."
"Now get back to work."